Author, dreamer, skeptic, nonconformist. Researcher, WWII enthusiast, lover of all things romantic and steamy. Instill humor in all I attempt but at what expense, one could wonder. I believe staunchly in aliens but they refuse to believe in me. I hate double standards, don't you? The motivation behind anything I write comes from the mutitude of voices in my head. (Oh, don't even go there...like any author does not experience this phenomenon). You know the ones, who keep you awake at night, insisting upon plotting out an entire novel, usually, the size of War and Peace, even though you have a meeting the next morning with the new boss that's flying in from Geneva to evaluate your department's contributions over the past fical year? Those characters? They motivate me to keep a writing tablet beside my pillow (and a flash light and gel pen...it has to be gel, they insist) that I not miss any of the special gems they throw out willy-nilly, usually just when I'm reaching that blissful state of comatose all serious sleepers crave. I am seriously beginning to dislike these phantom people.  Why don't they just go away, or at least come when I am sitting idly, doing nothing per se.  But...NO!  No, that's not how they work.  Not at all. Nor do they understand, I actually have a day job that keeps them in writing tablets and gel pens. Yes, I love being a writer.  Don't we all.  It's fulfilling and magical and I am just darned proud to be counted among the mutitude.  Anyone have a gel pen I can borrow, mine just ran out of ink.  

I can ride a bike. I can color inside lines. I know my alphabet mostly. I'm certified insane. I won an award for archery once long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.
I want to be the first woman on the moon, or at least on some nearby planet. And I adore wearing capes.